


Elz tries to do Iron Dragon's Charms Week 2020

by elzierav



Category: RWBY
Genre: Arguments, Ballroom Dancing, Bottom James Ironwood, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking Games, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Crack, I'll add tags as I go along, Insecurities, James Ironwood gets wrecked, Kisses, Locked in together, M/M, Massage, Misunderstandings, OT4, Polyamory, Porn with some plot, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Rating varies from G to E across chapters, Sparring, Training, Trans Clover, and loves every second of it, irondragonscharmsweek2020, let sad old men be soft, prompt list, rating at the beginning of each chapter, rating may vary from chapter to chapter, working out sexual tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:09:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27943553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzierav/pseuds/elzierav
Summary: Where I try to follow the Iron Dragon's Charms Week prompts!Day 1 - Date Night/Locked In TogetherDay 2 - Contact/MiscommunicationDay 3 - Insecurities/ArgumentsDay 4 - Training/MassageDay 5 - Distractions/PranksDay 6 - Festivals/BallsDay 7 - Free Day
Relationships: Clover Ebi/James Ironwood, Clover Ebi/Taiyang Xiao Long, James Ironwood/Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi/James Ironwood/Taiyang Xiao Long, Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood, Qrow Branwen/Taiyang Xiao Long
Comments: 26
Kudos: 39





	1. Snow's warm blanket

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 - locked in together (mostly)
> 
> warnings: minor injury, I guess. This is just fluff really, hope y'all enjoy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1: locked in together (mostly)  
> rating: G  
> warnings: minor injury, I guess. This is just fluff really, hope y'all enjoy :)

It’s just like STRQ days all over again. 

The wood cabin’s walls are thin, too thin. The blanket of snow that covers the roof and windows muffles the sounds of howling tempests outside. Every slightest sound from inside the house echoes through the surrounding silence. Every slightest sound, from the wood crackling in the fireplace to the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Every slightest sound, including the incessant chorus of obscene noises suggesting Tai, Clover, and James are fucking like rabbits again.

The three of them are having fun, and Qrow is the only one left out in the small space they all share. Just like STRQ days all over again. 

They’ve been trapped in Tai’s house on Patch for days now, with the raging storms outside covering the house in snow all the way up to the roof. It doesn’t snow often on Patch. But when it snows, it snows hard. Just Qrow’s luck really. And to say it had been the shifter’s idea to convince his old friend James to take a vacation somewhere usually warmer and nicer than Atlas. The General finally agreed when his boyfriend Clover insisted, allowing the scythe-wielder to drag the two military lovers all the way to Tai’s humble abode in the woods. The blonde, true to his nature, started flirting with both soldiers before they even put their bags down - and the rest is history. 

Now those three gorgeous Huntsmen spend their locked-in days jumping each other’s bones until the walls shake and the ceilings tremble, until a headache at the neverending noise builds up between Qrow’s temples.

It’s just like STRQ days all over again, but worse. 

Because this time around, Qrow’s only a little jealous… of all of them. He wishes he had the brash boldness of his brother-in-law, unabashedly throwing himself at people in a relationship through offering them hot chocolate and showering them in suggestive puns. He wishes he didn’t feel like a timid twig next to those three hunks, he wishes he didn’t have to be a fourth wheel and they didn’t have to have him as a fourth wheel. 

With his luck, Qrow rarely gets what he wishes for. But right now, not only does he wish for a break, he needs a break. He needs a breath of fresh air, he needs time away from the obnoxious, if arousing, sound of buff old men having sex. He needs to go outside. 

The door is snowed out. Even the windows are snowed out. But the chimney isn’t, and drifting upon the ascending hot air currents, it isn’t hard for his feathered form to find its way toward the sky. 

From all the way up there, the house looks small. The meagre wisp of heat that escapes the chimney seems small. The garden looks tiny, even the endless forest that surrounds it seems made of toothpicks and cake decorations on icy frosting. From up there, Qrow’s issues are almost insignificant. Almost.

Up here, the expanses of blue immensity almost make him forget how much he adores getting lost in the shade of Tai’s eyes, the indomitable twinkle of sunlight that never dwindled within them. Almost. 

Up here, with the winds whistling through his feathers, it’s almost easy to ignore how many times Qrow has wondered how it would feel to run his fingers through James’s hair, seeming so soft and smooth, how it would feel to readjust that lone lock of ebony that came tumbling upon the General’s pale forehead. Almost. 

Up here, where storm clouds already crackle with nervosity, the memories of the carefree sound of Clover’s laughter, of his suave as velvet, smooth as satin voice, the memories that keep bothering that bird brain of Qrow’s are almost quiet before the rising tempest, sharps snowflakes slicing through the icy air, whipping at his beating wings…

It hadn’t been such a great idea to fly out between two snow storms. Swooping down in a precipitant arc, the shapeshifter dives back through the chimney, through the narrow conduit of darkness before emerging back inside the living room. The fireplace’s embers blind him, stray sparks dancing past his face as his avian eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the incandescent lighting - before his world stops dead. 

His world shakes. 

His world hurts. 

The wind knocked out of his lungs, he lay on the carpet, his hand massaging his throbbing forehead - since when does he have hands now? When did he shift back without even realising? Pulsating pain rings through his skull, burning through bone and skin as if through paper in the aftermath of the violent collision that ended his flight and sent him crashing to the ground. His vision remains blurry, but he can distinguish splodges of steel and alabaster waltzing before his eyes while a soft voice speaks worriedly in words his confused mind can’t make out...

“Shhh… headache...” he mutters under his breath, hoping the noise would stop, that the fireplace would turn into silence…

Somehow, he’s still conscious. Barely, but still conscious. Apparently, it takes more to bring down legendary Huntsman Qrow Branwen. Apparently, it takes more than a brutal impact against James Ironwood’s bare half-metal chest, he deduces as he catches a glimpse of the General standing shirtless before the fire, previously tending to the flames before Qrow suddenly slammed into him in his bird form. 

Of course he bumped head first into the metal side. Because of course he did, with his luck. 

It might be the concussion doing all the thinking for him - but Jimmy looks dashing like this. The warm, flickering lighting reflects in fiery shimmers against the steel side of his body, dappling the slight sheen of sweat that covers the smooth planes and shapely muscle of his flesh half. Under the metal band on his forehead, his dark brow arches in concern at the sight of his hurt friend as he crouches down to check Qrow’s forehead for any bruises, hot fingers eliciting electric tingles as they rummage across shivering skin.

“Qrow, how are you feeling? You’re frozen!”

“Going out… wasn’t the best idea,” the scythe-wielder manages to murmur. 

“The fire is dying out. Let me rectify that.”

Ever the pragmatic thinker, the military leader grasps a sizable log to feed the flames - but it’s too large, it won’t catch on fire fast enough before its sheer size smothers the dying embers. Imperturbable, James places both hands atop the sectioned wood and proceeds to effortlessly rip the log into symmetrical halves. With his bare hands. Prosthetic parts moving together frictionlessly, muscle rippling under pale skin. Before shrugging and tossing the pieces into the fire that sizzles anew as if this were no more than a usual part of his workout routine (he needs to keep his human side in shape to match his metal side, somehow). 

Qrow feels something hot pouring down his face, mildly embarrassed to find himself prey to a sudden nosebleed. He tries to block his nose with his fingers, if only his head weren’t throbbing so painfully, if only his vision weren’t so fuzzy…

“Don’t worry birdie,” he can vaguely hear Tai speaking from across the room, far away, too far away… “I also got a little light-headed watching our tin man. Is it just me or it’s warmer in here?”

“I just added firewood,” the General replies neutrally.

“I think my heart exploded a little,” Clover admits, supporting the playfully swooning blonde. 

From the ground, Qrow tries to swivel around to face Tai and Clover, wincing at the pain in his forehead, at the pain everywhere. But instead, the room spins with him, the world spins, everything spins, and then everything fades as his concussed mind splinters into a myriad of shards, finally succumbing to the darkness. 

Flames still loudly crackle in the hearth when Qrow comes to. Why is this everything always so loud? But gentle touches trailing down his face soothe his senses, a warm wet cloth running over his features. 

Because of the smooth metal digits playing with his feathery hair, he can guess that James is wiping the blood from his face, while someone else throws blanket after blanket on him - from the sound of regular, steady footsteps, it must be Clover. Military precision moving his body with the rigour of a ticking clock, boundless optimism giving that near imperceptible bounce to each of his steps. Soon, the scent of rich hot chocolate caresses the shapeshifter’s nostrils, and even without cracking an eye open he can picture Tai stepping out of the kitchen with a tray of steaming mugs. 

“Is Qrow awake?” the blonde prompts, setting down the tray on the living room table with a soft clink. 

“Unfortunately yes,” his brother-in-law drawls, painstakingly cracking an eyelid open.

“On the contrary,” James retorts, “I’m relieved that you are awake and well.”

“But… aren’t you guys tired of putting up with me and my...”

Ironwood’s thumb caressing the corner of his lips silences Qrow’s words, causing his breath to hitch. Everything suddenly turns to silence, everything is finally quiet for the first time in this house, everything ceases to matter when James’s finger grazes the shifter’s bottom lip, the ghostly curve it traces is Qrow’s lifeline, his anchor, his everything. Then the General’s agile fingertip maps out his top lip, applying just enough gentle pressure as it flicks around his cupid’s bow to elicit a soft gasp. 

“Qrow. I just need to know one thing,” Ironwood murmurs. “How you reacted earlier when I-”

“You mean how I passed out like a damsel in distress? Go ahead and make fun at me while you’re at it.”

“No, that’s not why I mean. I should have been more careful and stood out of your way, since I realised you went outside and the chimney was the only way in.”

“Not like you’d notice I flew out. You three must have been too busy staring at each other’s -”

“Qrow, listen to me,” Clover interrupts. “Given how you reacted to James’s little stunt with a wooden log earlier, it seemed to us that you liked what you saw.”

“No shit, shamrock,” the shifter snaps back. “Jimmy’s gorgeous, you all are gorgeous. Didn’t you and Tai also enjoy the view? As I said, you three can’t stop staring at each other and lovingly drooling.”

“Well, I was hoping you’d say something along those lines,” the brawler chimes in. 

“About drooling?” Qrow deadpans.

“About your appreciation of how all three of us look,” James rectifies rather solemnly. “Since it just so happens we really like you too.”

“... what? For real?”

“Absolutely,” Clover insists, sitting down next to the General to cup Qrow’s other cheek, on the opposite side from Jimmy’s hand.

Slowly, surely, lightly calloused fingers rub tender, symmetric circles against either side of his jawline, over his flushed cheekbones, onto his aching forehead, down the line of his nose and around the curve of his top lip. Each touch is a certainty, a promise, and it feels real. Deft digits elicit a million electric sparks in their wake, and that’s real. The symmetry - it’s terrifying, too perfect, too unbroken, like the pieces fit flawlessly as they fall into place, and even Qrow’s not out of place for once, finally. And that’s scary, but that’s real. 

“But then, why only now?” Qrow wonders, a puzzled frown creasing his brows under the soldiers’ gentle fingertips. 

“Honestly?” Tai supplies, “you looked somewhere between annoyed and disgusted with seeing the three of us together. Until now I’d thought you weren’t interested.”

“You three look so happy, I thought you’d be happier without me and my bad luck intruding and...”

“Poor pretty bird, too busy putting others first instead of taking care of himself,” the blonde bemoans. “Now let us take care of you. Starting with a cup of hot chocolate for you.”

Tawny, playful hands lift a steaming mug to Qrow’s lips, only for the shapeshifter to jerk away from the burn and end up with hot cocoa spilled all over his lips and chin. 

“You’ve got something here,” Tai jokes, pointing to his brother-in-law’s mouth.

“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Here, let me help.”

Where the hot drink stains Qrow’s skin, the onslaught of a burning tongue, just as hot, just as wet, follows, lavishing his stubbled chin with much-needed attention before gracing the outline of his lips, carefully making sure each curve, each fold is suitably cleaned of the sticky, sweet beverage. Somehow, the shapeshifter can still taste the lingering aroma of cocoa in his mouth several seconds later - perhaps it is the way Tai’s lips taste? He wants to know, he needs to know, he has to know…

Qrow has little time to figure out, for soon Clover’s mouth joins the party, only too eager to help with the difficult task. Clover’s lips are warm like sunlight when it caresses the petals of frail, fearless flowers blooming even through the snows of Solitas. 

“I see why you’re called shrimp now,” Tai remarks, distractedly watching the Ace Op bending all the way down, his spine curved along an improbable line, to drop a small peck onto Qrow’s nose. 

The brunette smirks at that, before Taiyang leans in to kiss the grin off his face, earning a small, surprised moan. Already, James is meticulously peppering Qrow’s face with gentle kisses, ensuring there is not a single inch of skin left unmapped, that there is not a single fraction of a second Qrow is feeling alone or incomplete or out of place.

Because nothing is out of place now. Nothing is out of place, even the long-forgotten cups of cocoa on the table that slowly turn cold - but they do not feel cold. There is snow, snow covering the roof, covering the windows like a thick blanket, but they do not feel cold. The wood cabin’s walls are thin, too thin, barely shielding them from the howling tempests outside, but they do not feel cold. 

They cannot, will not, will never feel cold as long as they’re together. This is nothing like STRQ days all over again - this is so much better. 


	2. Question everything you know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You heard that too, right? That Tai is straight?” Clover hums, busy cleaning the cake pans in the sink in the party’s aftermath.  
> “It appears so,” James concedes as he fondly caresses his boyfriend’s shoulder before picking up a clean plate and carefully wiping it, “the probability that Taiyang is straight, conditioned on on all the prior evidence we can collect concerning him being intimate with women, is rather considerable...”  
> “Yeah, even though I do wonder if we could make him question all of his priors and biases and everything he knows.”  
> “Do you mean, by any chance, court him relentlessly until he realises he also likes men?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 2: Contact/Miscommunication  
> rating: G   
> warnings: mentions of bondage, tiny mention of an injury

“Never have I ever kissed a girl,” Clover announces with an easy smile, prompting Tai to take a quick swig from his punch. 

“Whoa, that packs a punch,” he notes a beat later, wiping the beverage from his lips before setting his glass down on the table, eliciting a chorus of giggles from the other adults. 

Next to him, James allows himself a small smile, his drink mostly untouched. A long second elapses before Qrow sheepishly takes a sip of his fruit juice. Unsurprisingly, Vine drinks from his green tea, perhaps more only slightly more surprisingly followed by Elm. Only another handful of instants later does Winter drink a mouthful of her tea, promptly burning her tongue and wordlessly cursing under her breath. The shapeshifter represses a chuckle - that’ll teach her to play drinking games with a cup of herbal tea. 

“Anything you two want to confess?” the captain teases, glancing back and forth between Winter and Qrow. 

“Ahem,” Qrow says. 

“This is classified information, Operative,” she snaps icily before he can even finish. “Your turn, Qrow.”

“Never have I ever kissed my boss,” he utters with a sly smile, before loudly putting down his drink for effect.

The flock of kids perched on the sofa turn and look for a second, before returning to their own games and chattering conversation. Yang and Ruby had proposed to organise the party in honour of their father visiting them for the holiday season, to help with the communication tower setup effort as well as see his daughters and brother in law. After dinner, the kids had gone onto their own games while Elm suggested the adults partake in adult things like drinking games. And apparently, like never have I ever with tea and hot chocolate.

Heat already ascends to Marrow’s cheekbones before he can even bring his cup of cocoa to his lips and take a brief sip, keenly aware of everyone’s eyes on him. A small grin forms atop Clover’s lips, before he swallows a gulp of his beer for courage. And leaning sideways on his chair, presses a quick peck to Ironwood’s rapidly flushing cheek. 

The silence that follows is rife with electricity, nervousness almost palpable through the air. Until Harriet lets out a disapproving sneer, her eyes narrowing as she points out:

“You’re supposed to drink if you’ve already done the thing, boss. Not when you’re about to do it.”

“Technically, Captain Ebi is respecting the rules,” James replies affably, draping a comfortable arm around the Ace Op leader’s shoulders. “Clover and I have been dating for a month.”

And to support his point, the General grasps a fistful of his lover’s lapel, drawing him in for an earnest kiss on the lips. 

“C’mon, Harriet,” Qrow says, “you’re just mad because you lost the bet. Better luck next time.”

“You heard the birdie, Hare,” Elm adds. “Time to pay up!”

There is a simple grace in the two military men finally revelling in each other, oblivious of their surroundings as even the weight of Remnant fades for fleeting instants upon their shoulders, oblivious for they know full well they’re amongst friends, friends who will treasure and cherish the previous secret shared with them. There is powerful grace in the tender acceptance they meet, their feelings for one another only greeted by support, by respect, by only the slightest bit of disappointment at fruitless gambles. Even though no one should ever bet against Qrow, and Hare only got a sore reminder of that. 

“Hare,” Vine reminds solemnly. “This is your turn.”

“Never have I ever… had a straight haircut,” she groans, running a frustrated hand through her gay platinum hair.

“Do you mean straight hair, rather than wavy or curly?” Winter prompts, ready to take another sip.

“Ah, if it’s not curly…” Tai shrugs, shaking his bright blonde locks before taking a gulp. “My hair is straight under the rain.”

“I mean haircuts for straight people,” the speedster replies evasively.

Tai takes another sip, finishing his glass. 

“Wait… did you just confirm you’re straight?” Elm asks, leaning abruptly against the table. 

The loud collision of her elbows against the wood draws everyone’s attention, including the not-so-secret gay couple who’d been distracting by gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t you also have a straight haircut?” the blonde blinks, befuddled. 

Reluctantly, the hammer wielder picks up her glass for another sip, chaotically followed by Winter, Vine, James, and eventually Qrow in rather disastrous desynchrony.

“Wow, Tai being straight and into women? I’d never have noticed, colour me surprised,” Qrow drawls, sighing at what will be a long night, given how drunk and confused everyone already is.

* * *

“You heard that too, right? That Tai is straight?” Clover hums, busy cleaning the cake pans in the sink in the party’s aftermath.

“It appears so,” James concedes as he fondly caresses his boyfriend’s shoulder before picking up a clean plate and carefully wiping it, “the probability that Taiyang is straight, conditioned on on all the prior evidence we can collect concerning him being intimate with women, is rather considerable.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” the Ace Op smirks, never getting tired of his lover’s nerdy discourse. 

“Glad you appreciate the combination between clean dishes and dirty talk, and not the opposite, Clover.”

The General’s heart melts at the slightest hints of a smile stretching his lover’s lips.

“Yeah, even though I do wonder if we could make him question all of his priors and biases and everything he knows.”

“Do you mean, by any chance, court him relentlessly until he realises he also likes men? As I said, the odds are stacked against us.”

“Speak for yourself, Jimmy. The odds are never against me. I always win at card games, remember?”

“Do you really think you can outmatch me, given my greater experience, in a game of flirting?”

“I knew I’d be able to rile up your competitive spirits,” Clover says, finishing off with a triumphant wink.

James leans to hug his boyfriend, placing a small kiss atop his hair.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten into, darling. You have absolutely no idea.” 

* * *

“May I come in?” James announces, tentatively brushing the curtain to the dressing room at the back of the tailor’s boutique, silken gloves against silky curtain.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Tai mumbles, fingers still fidgeting with the buttons of his dress shirt. 

“No, you’re not ready,” the General retorts, slightly frowning at the blonde’s unbuttoned suit jacket, unbuttoned waistcoat, and still unbuttoned suit jacket. “Let me help.”

Ironwood steps in closer - and his breath catches in his throat. The brawler stares back unabashedly despite his semi-clothed state, the stark white of the unbuttoned shirt making the copper tint of his tan skin. Against the straight line of the stiff, expensive fabric, James’s eyes can trace every curve, every angle of his sinewy torso, every arabesque of his jet black tattoos. The Atlesian swallows audibly as metal and flesh fingers awkwardly move to close button after button, clumsy prosthetics occasionally brushing the exposed tawny skin. 

Only when he’s done, giving a brief, practised tug on both symmetric sides of the collar, does the General step back to contemplate his handiwork. Even so, they’re standing conveniently too close, the dressing room is too warm, too cramped, it feels even smaller with the amount of crumpled clothes amassed in the tight space before the tall mirror.

“You look great,” Ironwood comments breathlessly. 

“Why thank you,” Taiyang’s response is lightning fast, natural, almost too impersonal, ”you don’t look too bad yourself.”

“But I’m not the one getting a suit tailor-made for the formal event,” the headmaster shrugs. “Now for the final touch...”

Meticulously, his slightly clammy digits unwrap the tie he’s picked for the blonde, carefully matching the shade of azure to the particular shade of Tai’s irises. But before he can attempt to wrap it around the collar, a hand stops him at the wrist, and there is brief contact, searing contact, electric contact of skin colliding with steel.

“Do I really have to wear one?” 

The blonde’s pleading irises are not devoid of a teasing, mirthful spark. James lets out a long, ragged breath. 

“The dress code for the Amity tower launch party requires a tie, I thought we’d agreed on this.”

“But I already have one… in my name?”

The General pinches the bridge of his nose at the terrible pun, trying his absolute hardest to prevent the corners of his lips from uncontrollably tugging upward. Right now, he wants nothing more than to bind the boisterous, rebellious blonde’s wrist and fuck him against the dressing room’s mirror until he can’t see straight or be straight anymore, but that sounds a tad inappropriate and like abuse of power. Instead, he has to settle with gently turning the brawler around to face the mirror and raise the tie next to his eyes, (not so) accidentally brushing his gloved knuckles against the man’s cheekbone in the process. 

“It matches the colour of your eyes,” the General argues patiently. “It would be a shame not to try it on.”

“But I don’t want to suffocate...”

“You won’t. Not unless you misbehave and I lose my patience before I get to tie that knot.”

Taiyang exhales a brief chuckle.

“If it’s the sight of my muscular chest that gave you such naughty ideas, then you’d get a much better view without the tie.”

Is the blonde flirting back, or just making fun of a gay man for the sake of it? The latter is overwhelmingly more probable, given Taiyang’s amount of prior experience, or lack thereof, with being intimate with men.

“A very sound reasoning that I would love to see you try to explain to your daughters when they realise you’re the only man without a tie at the party.”

“Curse your gendered Atlesian dress codes… not like you’d stop Qrow if he showed up in a dress, so how’s that even fair?”

“Well, my personal biases shouldn’t affect the outcome if he decides to do so. So it would be up to the dedicated staff to decide if -”

“You’re too stubborn to give up, aren’t you? Are you gonna force me to stay here until I finally capitulate and let you have it your way?”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, then my hands are tied, pun intended, and I’d much prefer to have that tie tied around my neck than anywhere else. So you should go ahead.”

Does that suggest that Tai is not even remotely interested in the idea of having his hands bound by a tall man in a position of power? James’s heart sinks at the thought. It is in these moments that gravity reminds the tin man that he has a heart. 

Of course, there is the possibility that the brawler may just have said that for the sake of the (bad) pun, so James cannot be certain of anything. Is he overthinking this? He cannot be, for Ironwood never overthinks anything, hereasons as he calmly ties the silky garment around the blonde’s neck. 

In all likelihood, Clover is deemed to perform better than that at this game of seduction.

* * *

“What is it with you Atlesians and your obsession with tying me up?” Taiyang pants, teeth clenched and hands pressed onto the dust crate at the back of their supply run truck. 

“Did Qrow tell you how he and I met?” Clover mutters back, focused on wrapping the bandage securely around the other man’s shoulder. 

“Nope, but let me guess, it involved him being tied up?”

“Lucky guess, huh?”

The brawler replies with a wordless chortle.

The two of them are returning from a mission to the mines that would have gone without a hitch weren’t it for a heavy stalagmite that collapsed onto Tai’s shoulder as they were about to leave. A stroke of bad luck, really. Or perhaps a stroke of good luck for Clover, who can’t wait to get back and boast to James about getting to bandage a very shirtless and rather flustered Taiyang. 

And even to tap his butt, bouncy with the truck’s motion while the blonde has his back turned to Clover. 

“What was that?” Tai perks up at the brief contact against his posterior.

“The truck must’ve been in a pothole, I kinda bumped into you. Sorry about that.”

“Hmm. First a collapsing cave, and now, a pothole? Your luck looks funky today, boy scout.”

“I’m not complaining about bumping into you.”

“I wouldn’t complain if I weren’t wounded!”

“Sorry, is the bandage too tight? Does it hurt?” the Ace Op quickly changes topic, watching Tai’s shapely back muscles rippling under expanses of sun-kissed skin as he tentatively flexes his shoulder within the bandage. 

“Nah, it’s fine, thanks a lot, shamrock. You’re pretty good at this.”

“Tying people up?”

“I meant giving patch-up jobs, you would make a good nurse. But that works too.” 

“Thanks, Tai. You’re a fine Huntsman out there. I really like what you’re doing with Dust. I sometimes regret not adding Dust capabilities to my weapon, but you can’t have everything.”

“Qrow tried to have everything, when he was younger. That brat tried adding Dust to Harbinger, too. But between the too many moving parts and his Semblance, he ended up with things getting jammed when transforming, explosions and fuzzy hairstyles more often than not.”

“Cute,” Clover muses, conjuring a vision of the shapeshifter with fluffed up hair like a growling newborn kitten’s fur in his mind.

“Sorry, did I trigger your gay panic?” the blonde teases affably, leaning over towards the Operative. “I was honestly surprised that you and Qrow didn’t end up together, seeing how many luck pu possibilities that would open up. He’s a sweet guy when you get to know him.”

“And you… got to know  _ know _ him?” Clover echoes with as many winks and brow wiggles as he can possibly muster.

“If I’d gotten lucky with all of my teammates, I’d have been the first one to brag about it, and Qrow would’ve been the first one to keep nagging me about it, believe me. There’s no way you wouldn’t have known by now, especially after drinking games and all that.”

“Wouldn’t you like to be that much lucky, though?”

“Nah, getting lucky is your thing. My thing, apparently, is to get Tai-d up by the Atlesian military… get it?”

Now it’s Taiyang’s turn to wink and nudge, until the good soldier capitulates and gives a heartfelt chuckle. It’s not that the joke is unfunny, merely that Clover was so, so close to being able to brag to James about provoking Tai’s gay awakening. Close, but no cigar.

“Even though, when it comes to your dating life,” the blonde continues, “since you got lucky enough to score the tin man himself, I’d say you’re the one whose hands are tied.”

On these wise words, Tai scoots safely away from the totally taken brunette, leaving the younger man tragically gaping at the loss of contact and at the sudden realisation.

* * *

“I think Tai’s not giving either of us a chance because he knows we’re together and doesn’t want to disrupt our relationship,” Clover groans, rolling over to face James on the bed and watching tired blue eyes staring back adorably through long, lush black eyelashes.

“What man in his right mind, if he’s interested in men, would pass up a chance to date both of us?” the General yawns into the soft fabric of his pillow. 

“A man who’s not into polyamory?”

“But I swear Qrow said Taiyang was with both his female teammates at once...”

“Maybe we should ask Qrow’s advice? Can you get me my Scroll? I’m too cold to move.”

“At this hour?” James grumbles, reaching over to the nightstand for the Operative’s device, snuggling up against his lover as the brunette calls their common friend.

“Hey, Qrow?”

“Hey yourself, lucky charm. Hope you have a good reason to disturb my beauty sleep.”

“Oh really? I’ll let you rest, then...”

“Just kidding, I was just back from a bit of flying.”

“Is Tai into polyamory?”

“Why, you need him in your harem? Hate to break it to you, but he’s only had harems of women before.”

“Oh, so he does appreciate polyamory,” Ironwood murmurs sleepily into Clover’s ear.

“That is exactly why James and I thought of making him question his sexuality and everything he knows.”

“Well, Tai is totally into polyamory, but he’s also totally straight. As straight as the blade of Harbinger.”

“Harbinger curves on command, Qrow...”

“As straight as the blade of Harbinger in sword form. There, happy?”

“We won’t be happy until we get more solid proof.”

“Of what?”

“Your hypothesis that Taiyang has been rejecting our advances not because he has issues with polyamory, but because he is indeed straight,” the General intervenes.

“It’s not a hypothesis, I’m damn sure about it,” the shifter groans.

“Then you risk nothing by showing us,” Clover says.

“How so?”

“You’re single and a handsome man, try to seduce him and we’ll see if he rejects you too.”

“I’m a handsome man!?”

“I second that!” James groans into the thick warm blanket.

“...whatever. You know what? Sure.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m willing to try. With my luck, it’s not like it’s gonna work out.”

“Thanks, Qrow. James and I will be forever grateful.”

“Can I go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, good night, pretty bird.”

“Good night, lucky charm.”

* * *

“Now where did I put Tai’s present?” Qrow looks down at the tip of his pointy stilettos, running a nervous hand through his hair. “I must’ve left it under the solstice tree...”

“No worries, you have all the Tai-me to find Tai’s present,” the blonde assures, watching his ex-teammate walk away toward the tree in his crimson velvet high-heeled shoes and matching cocktail dress. 

Qrow’s walk is steady enough, but it feels like an eternity for him to reach the tree across the room, the deep wine-shaded dress’s flaring skirt brushing from side to side against the back of his thighs, revealing those alabaster legs for days that Tai hasn’t seen since Beacon initiation days. At the neckline and the waist, delicate lace cutouts suggest hints of curved hips and protruding collarbones. Taiyang knows he should look away, must look away when Qrow bends all the way down to pick up a large box wrapped up in yellow paper from under the tree, yet he cannot look away, will not look away. From their cake-cutting and cake-serving positions, Clover and James are equally transfixed. 

Time stops, as frozen as their solstice cake. Time melts, their hearts melt, as quickly as the ice cream inside the solstice cake. 

And then, suddenly, Qrow is back, trotting up to Tai and all but stumbling into his lap trying to deliver his gift. 

“Ah sorry… high shoes and heavy packet, not a good combination.”

The shapeshifter tries to manoeuvre the present onto the table, ending up essentially straddling the blonde who draws in a shaky breath, then another, then another… before fumbling with the gift’s curly ribbons as if unaware of the scythe-wielder’s insistent weight in his lap.

With a triumphant smirk cast in Clover and James’s direction, Qrow shifts into his bird form and flutters away to the kitchen, a clear sign for the two others to join him. Muttering some excuse about not having enough spoons, the Ace Op leader vanishes into the kitchen after the avian, his half-metal lover following suit. 

“Okay, do I get a reward for trying?” Qrow prompts, transforming back and leaning artfully against the counter as soon James closed the door. “And don’t say I didn’t tell you so, because I told you so. He’s not interested. Not like I haven’t tried before.”

“I wasn’t aware you were also into him,” James ventures, idly holding Clover’s hand.

“You’re not aware of many things, Jimmy. You’re not very observant… well, actually. You’re really observant for certain things, but not for others.”

“The hem of your dress is askew,” the General comments, hesitantly moving in to fix it.

“My point exactly,” the shapeshifter sighs.

“I’m also aware you look very attractive tonight,” Ironwood continues, his flesh hand tentatively moving up the thick fabric of Qrow’s skirt.

“Th-thanks, you too,” Qrow exhales with some difficulty, eyeing the deep-plunging neckline of the jet black shirt the General chose for the solstice party.

“Great, I’m so proud of you for accepting compliments now,” Clover beams at Qrow, gently clapping his shoulder while still holding James’s hand. “Next, you’ll have to work on practising what you preach.”

“Huh?”

“If you were more observant, just as you told James to be, you’d have noticed we were both into you.”

“For real? Or is it another trick to coerce me into seducing Tai for one of your bets? Because I’ll call it now, Clover will win. I don’t know what he’s betting for, but lucky charm always w-”

Warm lips against his interrupt his train of thoughts, his words subsiding into a muffled gasp of pure surprise. The General’s mouth is on his, claiming him, worshipping him, teasing him mercilessly… for the kiss is brief, too brief, too infinitesimal before James pulls away, polite concern printed all over his features. 

Did he misread Qrow’s intentions? Did the shapeshifter not intently bend before the solstice tree at a perfect vantage point for James and Clover to observe, and rather off centre for Tai, on purpose? Did James overthink, again? Was he being tragically awkward, again and…

A million questions spiral out in his mind like fractals, but they shatter instantly when Qrow cups his jaw, slender, skillful digits tangling through his thick beard and drawing him into a passionate kiss. His hands travel down the graceful arch of Qrow’s spine, anchoring themselves at the small of the scythe-wielder’s neck. A shiver races down each nerve, each electric cable of Jimmy’s body as Qrow’s hands move downwards, feeling the firm flesh of him with fiery desire, smoothing the sleek steel with soft adoration, each touch starkly distinct, acknowledging the difference, each touch loving, infinitely loving all of James in his entirety, his damaged entirety, and not even just his entirety...

Just as Ironwood deepens the kiss, savouring the delectable taste of solstice cake upon his newest lover’s lips, he senses Clover move behind the shapeshifter, peppering the pallid skin of Qrow’s neck with a myriad of kisses, each feather-light, each unique like a multitude of so many snowflakes. The General cannot help but moan into Qrow’s mouth when the lithe Huntsman arches backward under his hands, leaning back into Clover’s tender touches. 

Clover’s wayward fingers tug at the hem of Qrow’s dress, slowly, carefully tiptoeing their way upward and revelling in how each contact elicits a delicious gasp that James’s demanding lips quickly swallow up, until…

“You still haven’t found spoons?” Tai calls out, kicking the door open. “Oh… maybe you’re still trying to figure out who’s gonna be the big spoons and the little spoons tonight. I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Breaking the kiss in a breathless giggle, Qrow hails Taiyang, causing the blonde to pause in his step. 

“Did you like your present? Because I didn’t even give those two idiots their presents yet.”

The shifter nods to James and Clover.

“I thought you were the gift to those two?” Tai shrugs. “Or at least, your first foray into poly relationships? Because apparently, you three are okay with sharing now?”

“We always have been,” the General assures in his most determined tone.

“Absolutely,” Clover adds. 

“Look, I’ve never been grossed out by your antics back at Beacon,” Tai’s brother-in-law says. “I’m most certainly not against poly.”

“So… can I join you?”

“Finally!” the Ace Op exults, disengaging from the three-way embrace for a fist pump and happy dance, the lights on his reindeer-themed holiday season jumper flickering merrily.

“Wait… weren’t you straight?” Qrow asks, puzzled. “I thought that was why you rejected all our advances, despite our best efforts...”

“That was because I thought you were competing to court me,” Tai waves evasively, “and I couldn’t possibly choose between three gorgeous and intelligent men! But if you’re really okay with polyamory and I don’t have to choose or break any hearts in doing so, then I’m happy to date all of you!”

“I was under the impression you confirmed being straight, during our drinking game,” Ironwood recalls.

“I was talking about straight hair! I have no idea what a straight or gay haircut means, and I just wanted an excuse to have a drink and… about that, Qrow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a beautiful bottle, but why did you gift me an empty bottle?”

“I was hoping we’d play spin the bottle with it, and that you’d end up smooching one of those two hunks and have the gay awakening they were coercing me into giving you.”

“Well, we could play now...” the blonde reacts after a pause, lost in thought. “Or we could skip the spinning part and get to the interesting bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta catch uppppp


	3. (you don't have to) waltz with broken mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, things don’t get better, and that’s normal. Sometimes the pain gets worse when it should have faded over the years, and that’s normal. Sometimes what appears as a tiny hurdle like a bit of pain is harder to overcome than fighting a whole army of Grimm, and that’s normal. That’s entirely normal.
> 
> aka the one where I unleash angst upon trans Clover, and then get the others to cuddle him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 3: Insecurities/Arguments  
> rating: G  
> warnings: angst, premenstrual syndrome

There is an impertinent grace about Clover that James should have hated. He expected to hate it when he first met the enthusiastic Huntsman in training who always put on a smiling front. He expected to hate him when he saw how easily the young man became one of the best elements Atlas Academy had welcomed among its ranks, how effortlessly he formed friendships and gained admirers, how he even used his luck to make his hair look flawless in every situation. For James, everything comes at a price, through hard work, grit, and determination. For Clover, everything seemingly comes from some stroke of good fortune. 

Until James looks closer, and notices Clover makes friends so easily because he views everyone who so much as treats him like a human being as such an exceptional blessing, and the way he beams in return to even the most basic niceties makes Ironwood’s heart melt.

James would have hated Clover, had he not fallen head over heels in love.

For James, everything comes crashing down. There is a flash of light, of colour, blinding, burning, deafening, and then darkness. Stains of red, stains of pure pain interspersed with the darkness. When the light slowly returns, half his body is colourless, stainless steel. 

Clover reminds James of himself, when he was younger. Hardworking and selfless under a near unbreakable façade of confidence. Near unbreakable, but not invulnerable. For even Ironwood has little control over when everything comes crashing down. James worries for Clover. James worries every day.

For Clover, everything does not have to come crashing down. James is relieved, every passing day where the Operative is still happy and healthy, his medical procedures all happening without a hiccup. James is relieved, but a dark cloud hangs above his head every day, and he fears the day a storm may break loose. 

There is a turbulence in the high atmosphere that causes the stars to twinkle at night. James knows it when he sees it. There are warning signs every time the rain is about to fall. 

When Clover walks into the studio that day, there is snowy lint still melting in his hair, probably from his mission in the mines. He wears a grey top stamped with the Atlas Academy logo alongside uncharacteristic black pants. James is quick to notice that detail. He is also quick to notice the early-morning mission the Ace Op leader had signed up for, as well as the late-night training session Clover had led for his team the previous day. 

James hasn’t obliged the Operative to run himself ragged working to ensure Amity’s successful launch. But Clover did it anyway, with his usual ease and flair. James most certainly hasn’t obliged his subordinate to help the General out in his endeavour to teach Qrow and Tai some dancing skills before the ball organised to celebrate the new communication tower. But he does anyway.

High-ranking members of the Atlas military are expected to dance at formal events. James is a skilled dancer - there is something symmetric, soothing, predictable, controllable about leading a partner into an elegant waltz, among couples moving like clockwork across the smooth wooden floors. There is a power in synchrony when everyone glides, halts, twirls simultaneously to the flourishing candenzas of violins… but with this bunch, alas, such synchrony is short-lived, and James worries. 

Qrow brings the same savage beauty to the dance studio as he does to the battlefield, waltzing on the wooden planks between the walls covered in mirrors as gracefully as he dances when he fights, spinning out Harbinger in intricate orbits. His long, agile legs pick up the steps surprisingly fast when he stares into the mirror to copy the two Atlesian soldiers. Where things get harder, however, is with physical contact. The shapeshifter wants to trust James’s commanding hand at the small of his back, he wants to trust Clover’s guiding fingers intertwined with his, leading him through the dancefloor. The shapeshifter truly wants to trust them.

But he’s used to touches being punches, violent, harmful, not helpful and kind. There is a panicking light in his eyes that reminds James of a caged bird whenever the scythe-wielder is being abruptly touched, and the General’s heart sinks at the sight. He wants to hug Qrow and tell him it’s okay, it’s all going to be okay, but he’s worried the shifter may only want to wriggle out of that.

Taiyang, on the other hand, is comfortable with touching, his fingers sometimes even lingering flirtatiously against James’s shoulder, across Clover’s hipbone. However, the blonde does not have Qrow’s natural elegance when it comes to dancing. He can pirouette with powerful energy, but the lines are broken, the lines are wrong, and James wants to pinch the bridge of his nose in consternation as he sees the way the brawler’s feet attack the wooden floors, his heels entirely too heavy for the gentle art of the waltz. 

Ironwood just wants to tilt his chin to force him to hold his head up high, wants to rip off that metal shoulder guard that breaks the line of Tai’s arms, supposed to stay horizontal from elbow to elbow… well, he wants to rip off the rest of his clothes and those stupid, stupid cargo pants too, but that’s an utterly different issue.

But today, the one that worries the General the most is Clover. As usual, the brunette is graceful, precise, patient, and pedagogical. He can skillfully dance and teach both male and female parts in the tragically gendered art of ballroom dancing, a useful and highly unusual talent for a man that James never possessed, always hindered by his height in the execution of female parts. 

Clover’s arms can stretch as straight as the horizon line, can curve as smoothly as a wave before it crashes upon the shore, perfection reaching the very end of his fingertips. But fleetingly, there are instants of sloppiness, unsteady breaths, tense muscles, nervous tremors. These instants are not there usually, and James dreads to see what they mean, dreads to see the warning signs announcing rainfall. 

Eventually, the storm does break loose. 

When it happens, James and Clover are teaching some lifts. The General is helping the blonde count the appropriate number of beats to the elaborate step to the music’s swelling tunes, while the Operative demonstrates with Qrow. Somehow, they slip up. Somehow, there is a misstep, a broken step, something about the momentum of their entwined trajectories spiralling out of control - and Qrow safely lands on his feet, thanks to his excellent reflexes, but his back does collide with the smooth surface of a mirrored wall, hard enough for the glass to crack. 

“I’m really sorry, my Semblance -” the shapeshifter starts, running awkward fingers through his hair. 

“Your Semblance has nothing to do with this,” Clover interrupts, a hard glint in his usually tender teal eyes. “If anything, I should’ve anticipated that and counteracted it with my good fortune. I apologise.”

“It’s okay, lucky charm, I’m not hurt,” Qrow mumbles, red flickers of Aura quickly shimmering across his back to heal the superficial damage. 

“But you could’ve gotten badly injured!” the Specialist counters. “I should’ve been more careful. It’s all my fault.”

“What’s the matter, Cloves?” Tai prompts softly, checking his ex-teammate’s proper healing. 

“The matter is none of your business,” Clover huffs, his perfect mask dangerously close to slipping.

“Clover, please, Taiyang is only trying to help...” the General intervenes, only to be interrupted by his subordinate. 

“Sorry, sir, but I don’t need help right now. I just… need to be alone.”

As Clover storms out of the studio, the mirror collapses into a series of shards, just like so many raindrops.

The General is careful as he follows suit. He gives Clover time and space to breathe in the nearby changing room, ensuring the sound of his respiration from across the door has evened out before quietly stepping in, careful not to overwhelm the Ace Op leader, frantically washing his somewhat puffed up features even though cold water doesn’t seem to help him calm down all that much. 

“Clover,” he speaks tentatively, “I’m sorry I overloaded you with so many duties as of late, with the Tower’s launch and the party preparation and Mantle patrols and all of that. I have cleared your schedule and re-assigned your missions, I will take care of some of them myself just so that you can get some rest and -”

“Leave me alone.”

“But Clover...”

“I didn’t ask to have my missions moved around. I’m not a baby to be coddled. If you want to help me, just leave me alone.”

“But I can help you with...”

“I only ask one thing, why can’t you listen just once? Leave. Me. Alone.”

There is a shard of broken sob in Clover’s throat when he speaks, a shard that wounds James’s heart. 

“Are you suffering from symptoms of PMS?” the General prompts.

The brunette shrugs, muscular shoulders rolling as he slumps onto the nearest wooden bench, massaging the sensitive skin around his chest and focusing on that sensation. That sensation is the world, that sensation is safe, itchy but safe.

“You have no idea what I’m going through, how can you just assume?”

“I’ve known your files since you got into the Academy. It’s not because I’ve never mentioned it that I wasn’t aware of your assigned gender at birth.”

James has always remained in control of everything, and it is all for the sake of caring for Clover in an optimal fashion.

“Still, you’ve never been through this,” the Operative snaps back. “You’ve never been pathetic and gross like this.”

“There’s nothing pathetic or gross about having your period. You don’t have to hide, you’re safe here with me.”

“Says the man who wears gloves all the time to hide every inch of his skin so people won’t see that he... Oh my gods, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so, so sorry.”

Something breaks in Clover’s expression at the sight of James’s sudden frown, realising the error in what he said. Tears well up within aqua eyes, but they stubbornly refuse to fall.

“Clover… it’s okay. You’re right. I don’t know what you’ve been through. I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like. Just like you can’t imagine how it felt when I lost both limbs on my right side and suffered severe burns. But back then, I wish I’d accepted the help and support you and Qrow gave me. And now I just wish you won’t repeat the mistakes I made. Sometimes, things don’t get better, and that’s normal. Sometimes the pain gets worse when it should have faded over the years, and that’s normal. Sometimes what appears as a tiny hurdle like a bit of pain is harder to overcome than fighting a whole army of Grimm, and that’s normal.” 

Only when Clover bashfully meets his gaze does the General dare to continue.

“You are brave and strong, nothing but the fact you made it this far makes you one of the bravest and strongest people I ever knew. And I know it’s hard, I know it hurts, but the bravest thing you can do right now is not to face it alone, like I did back in the day. The hardest, bravest thing you can do is not staying alone, opening up about one's insecurities, and being vulnerable. The bravest, hardest thing to do is to accept help.”

The Operative needs time to process everything, but it’s okay. He needs to think, but it’s okay. He needs to rest, and that’s also okay. Because strong arms wrap him into a soft embrace, and at least here, at least now, he’s safe, and he can rest. He can rest, except that he senses the discomfort in the way James’s flesh shoulder tenses up, in the way his metal side thrums to avoid overheating, and now he feels bad for putting Ironwood in such disarray...

“But… you lost half your body, James, and I’m just on my period. I don’t deserve your help. Neither do I deserve Tai and Qrow’s.”

“Yes, you do. And we’ll support and pamper you.”

“How do you know? How do you know they won’t be grossed out when they -”

“First, we’re all trained Huntsmen, a bit of blood won’t scare us off. Second, if anyone is grossed out, they don’t deserve you.”

Clover lets out a lengthy sigh, his breath buffeting gently against the General’s hair.

“Even you realised, huh? I’ve been that obvious about how I feel about you and them, about how I worry about not deserving you guys.”

“I had an inkling that might be the case,” the General admits with a fond chuckle.

“But it doesn’t bother you?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Really? But why?” Clover trails off, anxious tears cluttering his field of vision.

In lieu of a response, staring longingly into teary teal eyes, James leans in, irrefutably drawn into Clover’s gravity, and lands a soft kiss against the corner of Clover’s lips, conveying nothing but infinite tenderness and boundless support in the gentle, lingering touch. There is a tentative, trembling breath they share before they part, like a bird about to break free of its cage, and this is everything, this is more precious than the weight of Atlas upon Ironwood’s shoulders.

“This is why,” Ironwood murmurs, resting his forehead against the brunette’s.

“Sir… isn’t this… inappropriate?” the Specialist stutters, fingers rather adorably flying to his own kiss-swollen mouth as he still struggles to believe this is really real, and one of the three men he has come to adore actually reciprocates his feelings. 

“Abusing your power over your subordinate to kiss him when he’s clearly not in his best state of mind? Yeah, mildly inappropriate if I say so myself,” Qrow intervenes from the door, leaving Clover and his superior in shock that the stealthy shapeshifter and his brother-in-law have been listening in most of the time.

“I apologise, I should have asked,” James stammers, gaze downcast in embarrassment. 

“Yup, General,” Taiyang adds, “and if you want to help, you should also listen to what he needs instead of assuming.”

“I’d have said yes,” Clover protests hesitantly, wondering if he’d have been too overwhelmed to respond had James asked for permission. 

“Speaking of apologies,” Ironwood counters, “you two should present your excuses to Clover for spying while he talked about his private matters.”

“Sorry pal,” Qrow grumbles, arms crossed.

“Sorry Cloves,” Tai says, “Will you forgive me if I give you a kiss later? If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“... I’ll think about it,” the tired brunette produces a faint smile, a hint of his usual trademark confidence.

“But right now,” Tai brings his hands together, “we need to get you to rest with some blankets, hot tea, and chocolate bars.”

“You can come to my quarters,” James suggests, “there is enough space for all of us. Can you walk, Clover?”

“Yeah, I’m on my period, by the Brothers, it’s not like I got my legs bitten by a Sabyr!”

“See, Jimmy?” the blonde comments. “Stop assuming and listen to him.”

“Thank you, Tai. I’ll keep that in mind and try my best,” the General swallows his pride with some difficulty. 

“No worries, sweetie. I learnt a fair share when I helped Qrow and the girls through their period back at Beacon. Co-ed dorms, and all that.”

“Wait… really?” the Ace Op Captain shoots a bewildered look in Qrow’s direction. 

“Really, lucky charm,” the shifter nods, “so we’re totally here to help you.”

“Wow, you guys are really so sweet.”

As it turns out, having three trained Huntsmen to help Clover proves particularly efficient, getting him changed into soft, comfortable pyjamas in the General’s personal quarters in no time.

“James, got a steak you can cook up for lunch?” Qrow prompts as he opens the fridge as soon as they reach Jimmy’s flat, scanning through its contents.

“Depends on what’s at steak,” Tai quips back, already rummaging through the drawers for tea. 

“Steak, to counteract anemia? Sure.” the General says while the blonde helps him tie his apron over his pristine white uniform. 

“Now lucky charm, time to get you under an ungodly pile of blankets,” the shapeshifter continues, dragging his partner to the nearest couch. “And if I keep seeing you working on your Scroll, I’ll have to confiscate it.”

“But if I stop responding to my work messages, what will people think? That trans folks are wimps who can’t work efficiently?”

“Sometimes it’s not about all of us,” Qrow shrugs, creating a nest of sheets to bury the Ace Op inside, “sometimes you just gotta focus on you. And right now, you’re also sleep deprived and nearing a burn-out, so you gotta rest. Do it for Jimmy and Tai and me, okay?”

“... okay.”

“Love you lots, lucky charm,” the scythe-wielder utters fondly, kissing the top of Clover’s head before vanishing into the kitchen in search of the brunette’s favourite raisin chocolate. 

Perhaps he could head over to Tai's place and pick up Zwei next, most likely Clover and the little corgi would make great cuddle buddies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey it's not super late yet so it counts as catching up? I'll try to get training/massage done today as well!


	4. The hardest problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James doesn’t remember the last time he’s been hit this hard.  
> By the Brothers, James doesn’t remember the last time he’s been this hard.
> 
> aka James bottoms for the first time and can't get enough of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 (lol): Training/Massage  
> Rating: E  
> Warnings: smut, explicit content. Yup, this is our first explicit one in the week! With a prompt like massage (that I'm pretty sure I suggested) it isn't really surprising, is it?

There is an inherent sensuality to watching Clover and Qrow spar. There is a grace in their gestures, both silky and savage as Kingfisher’s hook smoothly sails through the air and Harbinger’s blade slashes down to block it. There is terrifying synchrony, as if they don’t need words to communicate, the soldier anticipating his partner’s every move to identify a window and attack, parry, and strike again with surgical precision. Each blow would have been devastating if it weren’t blocked by the flat of his adversary’s broadsword or simply dodged by the lithe Huntsman, dancing around the battlefield as if alongside a complex choreography, his impressive scythe swinging effortlessly between his hands. 

The fishing line and the sword point’s interwoven trajectories rarely collide, but when they do, each shock is violent, rife with tension. A sensual glint shines in focused teal eyes, perfectly mirrored by crimson irises. Usually, Qrow and Clover are professional in public, keeping their feelings to more private settings. But as they train together, it is not hard for onlookers to notice their hungry, devouring gazes, each considering the other as the most delectable sweet. 

Unbeknownst to most of Atlas and Mantle, General James Ironwood likes sweets. He has liked both of these gorgeous Huntsmen for years, but has always viewed it as disastrously inappropriate for him to court either his direct subordinate or the most trusted master spy on Ozpin’s inner circle. He has liked both of them for a distance, but now he’s glad his strategy of pairing them together proved fruitful and brought them happiness. There is something relieving and rewarding to the General when things under his control turn out as planned. 

But there is something mildly irritating about certain... biological functions within James’s pants refusing to remain under his control and acting up at the sight of Clover and Qrow sparring. There is something mildly unnerving about the stray thoughts at the back of the headmaster’s tired, pent up mind wondering if the shapeshifter’s gaze is this savage when he peels Clover’s pristine uniform off, if the Operative’s strong hands are as tight around Qrow’s wrist as they are around the handle of Kingfisher right now, if...

“General? You’re General Ironwood, right?” an affable male voice hails him from behind.

Ironwood clears his throat, nervously adjusting his tie as he worries for a fraction of a second if the newcomer can notice the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. Fortunately, the secret is safe within his spotless coat, that he straightens for good measure before turning to face the recognisable, grinning blonde.

“Yes, Professor Xiao Long. It’s been a while.”

Taiyang has hardly aged, throughout the year, looking as sculptural and sun-kissed as ever. Greys and whites haven’t streaked his hair, but the strands of once bright blonde have turned to paler, more mellow golds, and something in his blue eyes has softened, just like relentless, salty sea waves can turn rocky beaches to the smoothest of yellow sands. 

“I like the beard,” the blonde comments. “It looks great on you.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward pause follows. Taiyang’s smile looks flirty, but then James can’t really think straight, not that anything about him can be straight. It’s been too long since the last time James had time to properly rest, let alone get laid… 

“Shall we spar?” the brawler suggests, the artificial lighting highlighting each muscle of his tawny arm as he gestures to a nearby unused training space. 

Perhaps sparring isn’t a bad idea, the General considers. Perhaps letting out steam would help with the current… situation in his pants. Glynda had all but persuaded James, as Atlas headmaster, to come to this latest teacher symposium she’s organising, even inviting ex-Signal professor and current Atlas professor Qrow Branwen to tag along, despite the scythe-wielder’s usual aversion for such crowded events in large, luxurious hotels. James guesses he should at least make an effort to mingle with the other participants.

“Why not?” Ironwood replies, discarding his coat on a bench they pass for ease of movement. 

“Good call, you don’t want that shiny white coat to get destroyed,” the blonde winks. 

“Are you confident you can damage any part of me or my clothes to the point of destruction?” James arches an interested eyebrow. “I look forward to seeing you try.”

“And I’d love to figure out what you’re really made of, if it’s iron or wood.”

“I must confess I haven’t heard this joke for a while,” James blinks in slight surprise, “maybe not since… secondary school?”

“You could say the kids I teach kinda rub off me, when it comes to humour. Shall we start?”

Instead of answering, the General instantly springs into a combat stance, fists clenched and legs anchored into the floor despite the protests of his insistent crotch. 

“Bring it on,” he utters confidently, a small smile on his lips.

Thus the first round starts. Tai’s fingers aren’t clenched at first, instead hanging loosely like tiger’s claws ready to lash out. Then he clutches his brass knuckles, and Dust claws spring out, crimson and fiery. James doesn’t move as his opponent races forward, all claws bared and teeth grinning. The General stands strong, ready to take the blow head on… until he moves. Firing his gravity Dust gun toward the floor at the last fraction of a second, he leaps into the air, backflipping over the blonde’s head as searing claws slash a series of incandescent lines through the air where the Atlesian once stood. 

Taiyang, however, isn’t fazed for long. He’s an experienced Huntsman, an experienced teacher. With practised ease, he converts his extra momentum into a spinning backward kick, colliding with the General’s knee as he lands back to the training room floor. Pressing on his advantage, the brawler follows with a diagonal strike, barely blocked by the barrel of Due Process in a rain of ignited sparks. Tai is a whirlwind of fireflies, dancing the battlefield and relentlessly attacking, landing too many punches for Ironwood to evade every single one, kicking from quickly varying locations that would have disoriented and overwhelmed just any opponent. 

Just any opponent, but not the General of the Atlesian army. James is a lighthouse in the storm, strong, steady, able to absorb the violence unleashed onto him until he finds an opportunity. And intercepting his adversary’s clawed fist into his metal hand, he strengthens his grasp around the Dust appendages until they crackle and snap into smithereens between his steel fingers. His white glove hisses in protest, torn, tattered and burnt away, but the military man ignores the pain, ignores the damage and continues to tighten his grip. The blonde stares in surprise, but the headmaster’s already pinned him to the training mat face first, arm locked behind his back. 

Panting, Taiyang forfeits on this round, a powerful knee pressed between his shoulder blades. James is almost disappointed. And still painfully, painfully pent up. 

“So? Iron or wood?” he teases breathlessly into the blonde’s ear.

“Flesh, very hard flesh,” Tai quips back without missing a beat. “And bone, especially  _ here. _ ”

And for emphasis, he bends his leg backward to land a sharp kick of his heel into the General’s butt, dangerously close to the ragingly hard situation between his legs. James has no time to figure out if the brawler referred to his aching tailbone or his equally hurting boner, before Tai is already attacking again. He shoots a volley of rounds from his pistol in retaliation, each one deftly blocked and sliced away by the remaining claws on Tai’s left hand. 

An unusually bright glint in the blonde’s eye distracts Ironwood for a second, before he shoots again - and there is light. Somehow, Taiyang found the perfect angle, the perfect timing to sink one of his claws straight down the barrel of Due Process - and an explosion ensues, flashing a flurry of sparks and leaving both the blonde’s brass knuckle and Ironwood’s gun encased in a mixture of still smoking Dust crystals.

Discarding their now useless weapons, both opponents lunge at each other, fists swinging, blocking, punching again. Bending down, James narrowly avoids a roundhouse kick, leaving Tai’s back exposed but for the briefest, fleeting instant - enough for Ironwood to grab him by the collar of his shirt and fire his gravity gun again, hurling his opponent at high speed through the air in order to violently slam his back against the ceiling. They’re soaring, and the next second they’re freefalling, faster and faster till they hit the ground, and James throws the blonde against the mat at full force, his Aura flickering at the impact that knocks the air out of his lungs. 

It takes him several seconds to recuperate enough to make a joke. 

“It gets harder each time, doesn’t it, General?”

“I still won,” James retorts simply, conceding the fact the brawler did manage somehow to rid him of his primary weapon on this round. 

“Fighting me is like fighting my daughter. The longer I fight, the stronger I get. And for you, the harder  _ it  _ gets.”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to,” the General answers somewhat unsteadily. “Haven’t you had enough yet?”

Only the insistent winks and unsubtle smirks on the blonde’s slightly flushed features let James figure out that the blonde isn’t only referring to their spar, but also to a certain… member that’s currently throbbing inside the Atlesian’s pants. 

“It’s not about whether I’ve had enough, dearest Jimmy, since Ironwood’s little woody down there is definitely asking for more, isn’t that right -”

A powerful punch interrupts his jibe and promptly starts round three. Swift as lightning, Taiyang swivels around from the floor, kicking his adversary’s chest with both his feet. As before, James dodges out of the way - and receives the brunt of the impact onto his metal elbow, electricity sparking down his prosthetics and saturating his sensors for brief instants. Brief instants, albeit long enough for Tai to wrench his gravity Dust weapon out of his grasp and toss it toward the other end of the training mat. 

Teeth clenched in pain and frustration, the General rears his fist for another punch, aiming for his opponent’s abdomen, pinning down his arms, tangling their legs together so Taiyang can’t get back up... The third round is the most explosive. They trade blow for blow, matching strike for strike, pain ringing through muscle and nerves, through cables and steel. James lets out a grunt, the ventilation system of his metal side thrumming loudly. Then a second trickles by, stuttering into silence, and their eyes meet. 

Then Tai’s legs briefly struggle, and the bulge in Ironwood’s pants almost explodes. He recovers quickly enough - but not quickly enough to avoid the brass knuckle that flies toward his face, shattering his Aura in one smooth move. Stars fall out of their orbits before his eyes, pain pounding through his skull. His body hurts. Everything hurts. It takes several seconds for his senses to return, for him to discern a triumphant Tai perched atop him, all but straddling up to the… not so slight issue in his pants. 

James doesn’t remember the last time he’s been hit this hard. 

By the Brothers, James doesn’t remember the last time he’s  _ been  _ this hard. 

And the strong, skilled, smiling man sitting on him, his powerful, muscular arms shiny with a slight sheen of sweat only serves to make him harder. The mere idea of those talented hands, those deadly weapons rummaging across his body with controlled, perhaps even delicate touches only serves to make him harder. Which really, really doesn’t help. 

“You okay?” Tai waves slightly concerned fingers before the General’s face. “You seem a little… out of it. Are you hurt?”

“Only my pride,” James manages to groan, swallowing thickly. 

James hadn’t realised until now that getting beaten could be that arousing, but perhaps that can be chalked up to him rarely, if ever, being defeated. Qrow, Clover, and a certain Glynda ‘not interested in dicks’ Goodwitch were the only one who could ever come close to managing...

“You’re sure? You’re heating up, should I call for a medic? Or help you out of that absurdly high number of layers of clothing you’re wearing?”

It takes James all the mettle in his body not to come right there and then, completely untouched. Perhaps he should bring back the white pant design to his uniform, he notes at the back of his mind, if he is to attend any more of these kinds of events...

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. You only won one round out of three.”

“That’s what your mouth says, General, but little woody is kinda weeping over that defeat over here, so I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got a humiliation kink or -”

This time around, Ironwood does not punch Tai to shut him up. Instead, James grabs a fistful of his collar and pulls him down for a passionate kiss. 

The second their lips touch, second thoughts burst into existence behind his fluttering eyelids. They are still in a very, very public location, which is awkward, and the General might have been reading too much into Tai’s naturally flirty banter…

There is an uncertainty as to how they ended up like this. There is an uncertainty as to who deepened the kiss, hungrily, desperately, as to how the brawler’s large hands end up gripping the General’s waist, as to how James’s gloved fingers end up tangled amidst blonde locks while they breathlessly devour each other’s lips off. There is a hesitation that follows, hot saliva still connecting their lips as they part - briefly, infinitesimally, but that’s infinitely too much.

“Weren’t you gonna punch me?” Tai murmurs, lust dancing within azure irises through thick blonde lashes.

“I…”

“I thought this was all a distraction to beat me, because Atlesians always have a plan and are always prepa-”

There is something more careful, yet more desperate when they kiss again, drawn into each other by the strings of fate and the thread of saliva between their thirsty mouths as their lips collide, again and again. Taiyang’s hands tug on James’s tie while the headmaster, as discreetly as possible given their public setting, dry humps into the blonde’s thigh, grunting needily, gasping gently. Each sharp exhalation gives Tai access, his burning tongue molding the General’s lips to his liking and claiming them as his.

“Bedroom. Now,” James demands, regretfully breaking the kiss just to utter these words. 

It sounds like an order, it sounds like a beg, it sounds like the weight of the world depends on it. And then, somehow, they’re rushing to the elevator toward the hotel’s higher floors, toward Ironwood’s personal suite. The lift’s heavy doors slide close behind them, almost soundlessly, and then their hands are all over each other, mapping expanses of sweaty skin and sleek metal through many, too many layers of clothing that separate them. 

“Here… let me...” Tai manages to utter before heated lips press against his, silencing him once more as he tries to undo the Atlesian’s tie. 

He tries, and fails. Fumbling with the knot, he only makes it tighter and more constricting, which only serves to egg James further on, brutally pinning the blonde against the elevator’s metal wall. Gasping, Taiyang tilts his head backward as the angle of his jawline, the arch of his neck are covered in demanding kisses, each bearing the enticing promise of teeth. The touch of thick, soft beard is gentle, tickling, itching, encompassingly too much and teasingly too little, and he wants more, always more, swiftly undoing the buttons of his shirt as Ironwood’s mouth travels south, steadily south…

Blindly, the brawler reaches behind Jimmy’s back to reach the elevator’s buttons, wondering where to press just as the door swishes open, welcoming a certain Headmistress Goodwitch, much to the two men’s mortification. 

“Are you quite alright, General? Professor Xiao Long?” she worries, pushing her glasses up her nose. 

“Yes, Tai was simply… trying to help me with a ball bearing that got stuck in my shoulder,” the General somehow answers, praying that the flushing of their cheeks would be chalked up to the exertion of their recent training. “And you, Glynda?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Tai’s Semblance is really something when it comes to pinpointing the exact spot to massage, isn’t it?”

“Indeed… the way Taiyang can pinpoint a weak spot with absolute accuracy even in the middle of a fight is certainly impressive, especially after he’s gotten enough time to get to know his opponent. I had the honour to… learn that the hard way during our spar.”

Did James just deduce that? Tai’s jaw falls open at how fast the General accurately made the guess. Not just that, but James also looks like he’s getting off from that little exercise of logical thought, and that’s actually pretty cute. And hot. But cute. But surprisingly, really hot. 

“Well, I trust you’re finding this conference interesting,” Glynda says, seemingly oblivious of their machinations as she gains sudden interest in inspecting her manicure. 

“Absolutely,” James replies in a deep, velvety tone. “I have learnt a lot from the way teaching occurs these days - my duty as General has tended to keep me away from talking to other headmasters and teachers recently.”

Tai’s hand rubs circles down Ironwood’s back, kneading feverish flesh, caressing polished prosthetics, tiptoeing slowly down as he wonders how long James can last like this and stay calm, composed, coherent.

“I’m very glad to hear that,” she assures. “Though I suppose young Professor Ebi whom I met earlier is your pick to take your place in the next few years when you retire from your Headmaster position to focus on your military duties.”

The blonde’s burning fingers reach smooth butt cheeks, molding the muscular mounds excessively slowly, then suddenly fast, marvelling at the small, surprised exhale that spills out of James’s lips in response. 

“That is… accurate. After discussion we agreed that this would be best to avoid a single person getting both council seats.”

“Good,” Glynda judges. “That decision should also lighten your workload. For the better, since it does look like you could use some rest.”

“Thanks, Glynda. I have been a little… overworked lately,” Ironwood stutters, shutting his eyes for a second at the sensation of teasing fingers running up and down the pucker between his cheeks through the sturdy fabric of his pants. 

Tai can only be thoroughly impressed - rumours about the strength of James’s will were not wrong, if he’s managed to hold himself together this long. And damn, that’s hot.

“Well, this is my floor,” she says as he represses a sigh of relief. “Rest well, both of you.”

The sound of her heels clicking away down the corridor, the tone of the elevator’s doors closing again is music to their ears. James lets out a needy moan while Tai finally unbuckles the belt of dark blue uniform pants, his hands sliding into the General’s boxer briefs to massage his touch-starved posterior. The lift is taking forever, through myriads and myriads of floors, time is taking forever, the added gravity of their slow ascension weighing heavy and tense upon their shoulders. 

“Think you can come for me, without me touching you?” Tai whispers against the other man’s ear, his tongue darting out to grace the lobe with a playful lick. 

“I… ah… so close… please...” 

There is something triumphantly satisfying about seeing James Ironwood, usually so solemn, so composed, utterly unravelled under Taiyang’s ministrations. There is something intensely enticing about the General of the most advanced military in Remnant being reduced to a moaning mess by strong, skillful hands squeezing his metal and flesh bottom. There is something inexorable that draws Tai to the Atlesian’s lips again, pressing a sloppy kiss that’s just enough to send James over the edge.

“You look gorgeous,” the blonde murmurs, staring straight into blissed out deep cobalt eyes and they flutter incoherently, pupils dilated nearly all the way in the wake of the General’s climax. “You’re doing so good, Jimmy.”

A gentle kiss, a shared breath as time stops, granting them a short pause.

“And little woody is doing amazingly too,” Taiyang continues, “let me give him a little kiss.”

James can’t find the strength to protest when his underwear is pulled down, excitement outweighing fear when it comes to the risk of getting caught. Warm, slightly chapped lips land a soft peck at the tip, not even uttering a remark at the sight of the scarred, sizable length before taking it in with undeniable talent. Tugging forcefully at Tai’s hair as if holding on for dear life, James can feel the brawler’s mouth applying just enough pressure to work his needy member up toward a second orgasm, when…

The elevator produces another ding, revealing Qrow and Clover on the other side.

It takes James all the self-control in the universe and then some, not to immediately cum into the brawler’s mouth. Impressively, Tai manages to redress both James and himself at record speed, while the two other love birds seem too distracted with the Ace Op massaging a kink out of the shapeshifter’s back to notice anything amiss. Hopefully, this will end quickly. Hopefully, they’ll reach the top floor where James’s suite is fast enough. 

Alas, they never make it there. 

Instead, the elevator stops with a resounding crash, suddenly immobile in mid-air. Time freezes, no one moves, nothing moves except the lights that flicker against the ceiling. Stumbling over his feet, Qrow almost crashes against James’s muscular chest, muttering and cursing something about bad luck, before Clover can help him back to his feet. 

And then only, Ironwood notices. How tight the space is in this elevator is. How overcrowded they are. How little air there is to breathe, like deep down in the mines, how the dim light flickers, flickers like Dust crystals back in the mines, before the ceiling came crashing overhead, and the mine came crashing, and the world came crashing, and...

“Jimmy? Are you okay?”

The lights are too bright before James’s eyes when they return, illuminating Clover and Qrow’s concerned faces beside Taiyang.

“I… I apologise,” the General mumbles, lips still quivering slightly. “Tight spaces tend to bring back… not the best of memories.”

“Please don’t be sorry,” Clover implores, “Just breathe, you’re safe here with us. I’ve pressed the emergency button, not we just gotta relax before someone comes to help out. Let’s look at the bright side of things - now that you’re stuck in here with us, there’s nothing you have to do but relax. Can I give you a massage? I’ve been told I’m good at those.”

“Yeah, Clover’s great at that,” Qrow agrees.

“If you insist,” Ironwood responds sheepishly. 

“Look, I’m sorry you guys were in a hurry to get somewhere and my Semblance messed up everything,” Qrow sighs, slowly sliding down the elevator wall into a sitting position.

“You also need to relax,” Tai points out to the shapeshifter, starting to rub Qrow’s shoulders. “You also need a massage.” 

“If we all sit down in a circle, everyone can massage the person in front and be massaged by the person behind them,” the scythe-wielder grumbles. “We might as well try that, because with my luck, it’s pretty much guaranteed we’ll be stuck here for a while.”

“Excellent idea!” Clover comments, squatting down between James and Tai. 

Massaging and being massaged proves a mind-numbing exercise, leaving them in companionable silence for a few, slowly elapsing minutes. James focuses on kneading the blonde’s shoulder blades with his flesh hands, the heat of his metal palm pressed flush against the small of Tai’s back as the brawler presses into the touch. In turn, Taiyang massages Qrow, who adorably bites back a moan while his hands work on Clover’s back, the brunette in turn giving his boss the best massage he’s ever had in his life. Each touch is delightful, tensions and pains dissolving like ink drops diffuse into water at the pace of fingers leisurely tracing swirling lines between sinewy muscles into scarred skin through too many layers of clothing.

Damn, it’s getting hot in here. 

“... Is that turning you on?” Clover whispers carefully, unwilling to disturb the quietness. 

“How could it  _ not  _ turn me on?” James groans back, running deft digits against the nape of Tai’s neck, eliciting a trail of goosebumps. 

“Y’know,” Tai suggests, “we could pick up where we left off.”

“And where was that?” Qrow quirks up an interested brow. 

“I was going to strip Jimmy’s pants down and show him my Semblance at work when it comes to finding weak points inside of him...”

“Wait, I don’t suppose anyone has lube while we’re stuck in this elevator?” Clover wonders.

“I’m always prepared,” the blonde retorts, fumbling with the contents of his many cargo pant pockets. 

Ever efficient as trained Huntsmen should be, Tai, Qrow, and Clover don’t take long to unfasten the entanglement of belts that forms James’s uniform and strip him of his clothing, revelling in the stunning sight that lies beneath. It is a miracle of technology, a pinnacle of symmetry, a testimony to a man’s determination to survive for the sake of selflessness, to survive against all adverse odds until the odds only serve to make him stronger. There is a pause of pure contemplation, before Tai leans over to whisper into Ironwood’s ear. 

“Ready for me, General?”

“I… I’ve never...” James stutters, wondering how the foreign sensation of the man’s considerable length would feel between his tight walls, throbbing with anticipation.

“Actually, I’m not surprised that you, out of all people, like to stay on top of things, if you get my meaning. Well, you won’t find anyone equipped with a better Semblance for your first time...”

“Lucky charm over here begs to differ,” Qrow grumbles, pressing open-mouthed kisses down the side of the Operative’s neck. 

“Gentlemen, there is no need to argue,” the General protests, “my own Semblance can certainly ensure I’ll be able to take all of you in turn.”

“Wow, such confidence already,” the blonde muses.

That confidence shatters when a cold finger, slick with lube, is introduced up his entrance. Letting out a soft wail, he leans back into the side of the elevator, into Clover and Qrow pressing gentle kisses all the way down his shoulders, moving with symmetry and utterly uncaring if they’re nibbling at soft skin or smooth steel. 

Soon, a second finger is introduced, and this is like getting punched by Tai’s hand all over again. Those strong, skilled, slippery digits scissor their way up and down his opening, exploring him, mapping his secrets inside out to find sensitive points and exploit them. As the Ace Op captain murmurs sweet nothings into James’s ear, the General closes his eyes, surrendering to the sweet, sweet abandon of so many hands holding him with the same powerful passion with which they wield their deadly weapons on the battlefield. 

There is a pressure of hips that serves as a brief warning, before Tai thrusts into Ironwood, experimentally at first. And immediately manages to graze his prostate, eliciting the most delicious moans that he captures with a reassuring kiss. Just as his mouth moves gently, his hips are relentless, picking an ever-accelerating pace. Each thrust is another round of sparring, and the brawler gets stronger and more accurate each time, drawing more pleasure, impossibly more pleasure each time, except James doesn’t fight back, jutting his hips to meet the brawler’s brutal rhythm. 

Time ceases to exist, the elevator could be soaring or freefalling or locked in immobility through a motionless universe, and James wouldn’t care less. All that matters is that the orgasm that tears through him ripples through every exhilarated pore of him, through every thrumming inch of his half-metal shell. The tightness in him clenches down on the brawler’s member, and that is enough, and that’s all that matters as Taiyang releases his hot seed into him, muffling a roar against the crook of his neck as he comes. 

Somehow, James keeps his promise. Somehow, his mettle keeps him going. He’s already hard and steady when Qrow lines his narrow hips with his, ready to take him from behind. Tai’s fingers are running across the savage line and gentle curve of the shapeshifter’s pale hip bones, while Clover bends down to flick his tongue onto the tip of James’s erect length, drawing a sharp gasp and enthusiastically taking that as a sign of encouragement. 

What Qrow’s member lacks in width compared to Tai, he makes it up in length, the curvature of him simply delicious between the tightness of James’s walls. The pace is erratic, each unpredictable thrust is everything, erasing the rest of Remnant from existence. Qrow’s teeth are biting down on his shoulder, and now that’s his anchor, that’s his horizon, pain and pleasure pulsing out of that point of contact. There is no certainty left, but the warmth of Clover’s mouth taking in his whole length, the scarred flesh twitching in contentment. There is a strange, but not unpleasant resonance of Clover’s moans against his commander’s erection as the blonde started to jerk off the Ace Op, fists exerting enough expert pressure to make the brunette squirm. 

James doesn’t know whether it’s Clover’s loud moans, vibrating in the confined space, that sends him over the edge. Or the talent of Qrow’s experienced ministrations, marking the pale skin and stainless metal with memorabilia that would mercifully be covered by the General’s uniform. All he knows is that the world whites out before his eyes, weightlessly washing away before coming back to crash upon him, all colours ablaze and loud as his body only begs for more. 

His body wants more, craves for more, needs more. This is a possibility he’d hardly even considered before now, but now he cannot get enough, can never get enough, so it’s fortunate that Clover’s turn is next. 

The Captain touches James with brutality and tenderness all at once, and the headmaster can’t help but relish in the reverence of each contact. Each thrust has a slow, deliberate violence to it, both wrecking and worshipping Jimmy’s broken, beautiful body. There is a secret gentleness about how Clover encouragingly lets him readjust himself and essentially ride his considerable member. It has probably been intentional to let the Operative go last, being the largest of them all, and James appreciates that Clover starts out at a snail’s pace so as not to hurt his commanding officer. But the General cannot avoid groaning in relief when the tempo accelerates, each strike as surgically precise as ever against the bundle of nerves that makes each fraction of flesh, each length of cable in his half-human body sing in perfect synchrony, in perfect symmetry. 

He’s slammed against the cold surface of the elevator’s wall, hard metal hitting hard metal and flushed skin when he comes for the umpteenth time. His spine arching backward as he sees the hard light Dust lamps overhead, cobalt eyes blinking in bewilderment as if gazing at the stars - and then the stars take over, the light takes over, and his eyes roll back as he slumps bonelessly into his lovers’ gentle embrace. Their hands are weapons, their bodies are weapons, but their touch is as soft as clouds to the General’s utterly blissed out mind. 

A slight smirk forms upon Tai’s lips at the sight of Qrow dozing off against the crook of Clover’s neck while James softly snores, splayed out across the laps of the three other men. They should probably get dressed soon, if they want to convince whoever comes to rescue them that all they’ve been doing is giving each other relaxing massages and taking well-deserved naps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh. Addressing the obvious. Sorry for the long wait and hope it was worth it! It is 7pm and I'm dozing off again as I type this. I am burnt out because of work and all that and I need to. Uh. Stay alive. Hope the next 'day' won't take me anywhere near as long!


	5. Hard light disco ball, with a side of glitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now that’s unscrewed, and we’re all about to get screwed,” Tai summarises eloquently, much to his lovers’ amusement and consternation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 5: Distraction/Pranks  
> rating: M   
> warnings: crack, discussed sex toys, a tiny bit of bondage  
> ... enjoy ;)

The Fall of Atlas, following Salem’s defeat, has buried James Ironwood under a pile of paperwork. 

There is debris, sure, there is much to rebuild - but most of all, paperwork. Using the Staff of Creation, the city was lowered as gently as possible to avoid any destruction. But the collision between Atlas and the cold tundra of Solitas fractured the formerly flying city into multiple fragments, which meant roads, pipes, and districts have been broken and need to be completely rearranged. In the end, there is roadwork, pipework, and paperwork. 

The Staff has been moved to Amity to launch it into space and outside of Salem’s reach, and that brings its load of paperwork. Yet again, Council elections have to be conducted, and that brings its load of paperwork. When the General finally walks back to his office, ready to go through a dozen reports and sign another dozen forms, the shattered moon has risen over Atlas, illuminating the sight that awaits him in his office. 

Or rather, the two gorgeous hunks who await him shirtless, lying atop his desk in his office. His shoes kicked off the corner of the table, Taiyang lies facing upward, muscular arms crossed behind his head of tousled golden hair, delicately streaked by silvery moonlight. Clover, on the other hand, has his abdomen pressed to the desk, his shapely behind elegantly arched up to catch gentle starlight in those sinfully tight white pants as he turns to face Ironwood, a twinkle of mischief in his aqua eyes. 

James allows himself an endeared smile for his two boyfriends as he walks around the desk, reaching for his chair. 

“If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen...” he clears his throat, setting down a heavy folder onto his desk. 

“Nope, no more work tonight,” the Ace Operative interrupts, crushing the pages under his shapeful bicep so James can’t reach for them. “We don’t want you overworking yourself to the point of insanity again.”

“So you’re attempting to distract me?” the General quirks a brow that almost reaches the metal band on his forehead, while his hand darts toward the papers that Clover is pinning down. 

Before he can touch them, however, Tai’s mouth moves swiftly, ripping his silky white glove from his hand between teasing teeth.

“Tastes nice,” the blonde hums thoughtfully. “Tastes a lot like you, sweetie.”

James is about to shrug that off, when he realises the comment was directed at their favourite lucky charm, who’s blushing furiously as blonde lashes shoot him a deadly wink. The headmaster should really protest, but they are too pretty to be yelled at. He should really access his terminal and sign some forms before calling it a night, but they are too pretty to be disturbed from their perched position atop his desk. He should really grab his keyboard and his mouse, but the former device is stuck under a too pretty tawny abdomen, and the latter is located under a too shapely… crotch.

“Stealing classified documents and military equipment, as well as disobeying direct orders, is not exactly the behaviour expected from one of my best men, Operative Ebi,” James teases distractedly, drawing his Scroll to fill his forms there instead.

“Well, I’m not part of the military,” Tai retorts, playfully tugging at the General’s tie and wrapping the red fabric onto his fingers. “I’m only here to help out as a freelance Huntsman, so you can’t fire me. And I know you won’t fire Clover either, he’s way too cute, and his butt is way too nice without the butt cape.”

“I won’t fire him, but I could consider alterations to his customised uniform,” James taps his fingers against the side of the desk, “and remind the uniform department about the dangers of butt capes”.

“That might cause a lot of distractions amongst our ranks,” Clover argues, “so please think twice before making that decision.”

“Or what?” the General blinks, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy.

“We won’t stop at the gloves next time,” the brunette threatens, “we’ll bite off your fingers so your doctor has to prescribe you days of rest while they fix all the chewed up cables.”

“Sometimes I feel like I have pet rabbits for boyfriends,” Ironwood fondly sighs, obliviously caressing his lovers’ hair while Taiyang continues pulling on the tie, dragging Jimmy closer and closer to the desk. “And a pet bird… where’s Qrow?”

“Biting off parts of you so that you have to be put on sick leave?” Clover quips back immediately, just as Tai pulls the General in for a breathless kiss. 

The collision should be a clash of tongues and teeth, but James is too tired for that. Instead, he melts into the touch, his lips pliant, gentle, loving as he surrenders to the blonde’s burning mouth.

Only as they part does the headmaster notice a certain shapeshifter, ever the sneaky spy, has indeed been hiding under the desk the whole time to snatch away a certain member of his, while their two other boyfriends were distracting James. Of course they’d planned that prank beforehand, tasking the smaller Huntsman with a keen eye for shiny things to go under the desk and steal his metal shaft from inside his pants when he wasn’t looking. 

For he does not feel pain, does not feel anything when parts of his prosthetics are being slowly unscrewed, for the precise purposes that they should be painlessly removed and replaced if they were to be damaged. For that, and other purposes. 

Namely, that he has a whole collection of interchangeable cocks, for his own pleasure and that of his lovers. A whole collection stored in a black box that Qrow is currently opening under the desk, a twinkle in his vermillion eyes as he looks through the aligned shiny lengths. 

“Now that’s unscrewed, and we’re all about to get screwed,” Tai summarises eloquently, much to his lovers’ amusement and consternation.

“Wow, is that fire Dust?” Clover says slack-jawed, wide-eyed as his gaze focuses on the left of the box. “And here I thought you were already hot on a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong, I also think you’re cool, but then, next to it there’s the ice Dust version too...”

“Look at that button on this one,” Tai points out. “Isn’t it the same as that on Jimmy’s arm? The special massage arm, I mean.”

“Are we not gonna mention the one with ridges? Okay, we won’t mention the one with ridges,” Qrow mutters.

“And then there’s… that’s hard light Dust, right? Shaped like a disco ball, and coming with glitter lube?”

Clover shudders, imagining how a myriad of smooth facets with slightly different angles would feel upon his tongue or inside of him...

“That was James’s present to me for our second anniversary,” the shapeshifter drawls. “Before we broke up, and then got back again.”

“Even then, James got through his thick skull of his that you liked shiny things, pretty bird,” Clover brightens up as he notices, pressing a gentle kiss to the General’s beard while running fond fingers through Qrow’s feathery strands. “... hey, is it just me or this one smells like raspberry? Does it taste like raspberry?”

Without missing a beat, Qrow picks the considerable, knotted length Clover stares at, and licks it - before promptly tossing it into the Ace Op’s mouth.

“Raspberry,” he confirms. “Your favourite, lucky charm.”

“Wait… this tastes like candy…” the brunette’s brow furrows in confusion. “And it’s… melting? Like candy?”

Qrow picks the disco ball one and swipes his tongue atop, gaping as he announces:

“Tamarind? Jimmy, did you also choose my favourite for this one?”

“Lemon caramel, seriously?” Tai frowns, withdrawing another from the box and sucking on it. “Qrow, I thought the box contained replacements for Jimmy’s private parts, not… lollipops???”

“I surmised you might investigate the box, so I replaced its contents with custom-made sweets to your tastes from a premium Atlesian confectionery,” Ironwood explains, causing the others to almost choke on their candies.

“It seems like we pranksters got out-pranked,” the shifter sighs, resting his head onto James’s lap from his sitting position under the desk. “Where are the real ones?”

“Hidden somewhere in my quarters,” the General replies.

“Time for a treasure hunt?” Clover suggests wildly. 

Just as Ironwood can finally sigh, hoping his boyfriends will leave him to work while going on their search, he finds his chair being wheeled away with them- and his tie being securely attached to the armrest and around his wrist so he can’t free himself without destroying the fabric or the chair. He shrugs in defeat, guessing his lovers must have ganged up to pull that last prank while he was distracted with the box. 

At least, on the bright side, tonight is going to be a fun night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a bit of a shorter one, but I'm catching up... yay!? 
> 
> Andy came up with James's disco stick, so I wouldn't be surprised if it cropped up and was actually shown at work in other fics. Also Chloe came up with the ideas about James out-pranking the others. So really I own nothing but the rest of the ideas and a keyboard I stubbornly bang my heart and hands against. Hope y'all enjoyed!


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